Pole let him walk on a few paces, then he climbed over the fence and caught him up. He drew the piece of quartz containing the tiny nugget of gold from his pocket, which he had shown Abner and Dole on a former occasion. “You see that, Uncle Ab,” he said. “That dirty rock is like friendship in general, but that little yaller lump is like my friendship fer Alan Bishop. It's the puore thing, solid an' heavy, an' won't lose color. You don't know when that boy done his first favor to me. It was away back when we was boys together. A feller at Treadwell's mill one day, behind my back, called me a bad name--a name no man will take or can. He used my mother's name, God bless her! as puore an' holy a woman as ever lived, to git back at me. He hadn't no sooner spoke it than Alan was at his throat like a wild-cat. The skunk was bigger 'n him, but Alan beat 'im till he was black all over. I never heerd about it till about two weeks after it happened an' the feller had moved out West. Alan wouldn't let nobody tell me. I axed 'im why he hadn't let me know. 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you'd 'a' killed 'im an' 'a' got into trouble, an' he wasn't wuth it. 'That's what he said, Uncle Ab.” Pole's big-jawed face was full of struggling emotion, his voice was husky, his eyes were filling. “That's why it's a-killin' me to see 'im robbed of all he's got--his pride, his ambition, an' the good woman that loves 'im. Huh! ef I jest _knowed_ that pie-faced hypocrite had his money he wouldn't have it long.” “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” Abner looked into the fellow's face, drew a long, trembling breath, and finished, “I wouldn't--but I 'll be dumed ef I know what I'd do!” XXV [Illustration: 9218] HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As he reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching the slate-covered spire of the largest church in town. He went to a public wagon-yard and hitched his horse to one of the long racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, sleeping in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a little fire. Pole wanted a cup of the beverage, but he passed on into a grocery-store across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and hard-tack crackers. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a dipper of water from the street well, and sat around the store chatting with the clerk, who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping and dusting the long room. The clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, bristling mustache, and a suit of clothes that was too large for him. “Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse a good deal?” Pole asked, as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him. “Mighty nigh all day long,” was the reply; “him an' Fincher's some kin, I think.” “On his wife's side,” said Pole. “I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef he 'll be down thar this mornin'.”